


Living in dreams and self-told lies

by cc5



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Beth Greene (mentioned) - Freeform, Daryl is not in a good way, F/M, Grady Memorial Hospital (Walking Dead), Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Please read notes, Return to Grady, sorry but Beth remains dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cc5/pseuds/cc5
Summary: He's back in Atlanta, on his way to Grady - can they work together to defeat Beta and his army? How does it feel to return to the very place that robbed him of the woman he loved?
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	Living in dreams and self-told lies

**Author's Note:**

> Hi gang, welcome to my anxiety induced one shot. It's really just miserable angst, so even though I rated it Teen and Up, you should be mindful: do you want to read extensive descriptions about Beth's death at Grady? Daryl isn't in a good place mentally, and I don't want to ruin anyone's day.  
> Tell me if you'd like me to add any other tags to make this safer. 💕
> 
> Had to get this out to deal with my own anxiety. Stay safe and stay healthy, everyone!
> 
> Thank you to Kirsty for encouraging this madness! 💕

Entering Atlanta filled Daryl with surprising, persistent dread. It had been almost a decade since he last stepped foot into these streets, but the feeling deep in his gut seemed to be mirroring his previous experience. 

It was more than that: Apprehension, yes. Foreboding, absolutely. But this time the feeling of profound loss swept over him like a wave, something he never got used to and felt that no one ever should. He had to push the emotions down, instead focus on the unfamiliar roads - too many windows, entrances, corners. Enemies could be anywhere, yet the city seemed eerily deserted. 

Coming back to Grady felt like a mistake, but they all had to keep taking risks for the betterment and safety of their alliance. Strength in numbers. Today, this meant going back to the place that cost him, cost them all, dearly. 

The time after the turn had been more formative to Daryl than perhaps the time before, and given his colourful past, that certainly was a bold claim. People and events had touched his life in varying degrees of intensity and magnitude, and it had taken more than the end of the world to shift his priorities and learn self-worth.   
Atlanta was a place he had left physically and emotionally behind, the latter albeit less successfully. It haunted him even now, with quiet desperation. 

As the building eventually loomed in the distance, he felt a deep sense of loneliness. The only other person of his family alive today who had stepped into this hospital was the woman beside him, and from the grim look on her face it was apparent that Carol too dreaded the return to Grady.   
Maybe that group had changed, maybe there were still  _ good people _ , but the hope to meet kind strangers was fading with every passing day as time tended to harden and hurt the best of souls left alive. 

Many questions had been left unanswered. At first, he did not bear asking them, and soon it became harder and harder to form the words. Perhaps the questions weren’t truly hard- bearing the answers would be. No explanation could possibly lessen the all encompassing despair of  _ why did she risk her life trying to kill that cop?  _

He wasn’t sure if it was easier not knowing. After Noah’s death, he had accepted that a complete picture of Grady could never be painted, not with the limited time Carol had spent there. Did it matter? Knowing wouldn’t change the outcome and yet… it was important. Certainly now, trying to ascertain whether or not working with those people or whatever was left of them was worth the travel.

They had managed it before- accepted former Saviors into their midst even, so it was not impossible to move on. Fuck, Negan himself was still alive, and to this day Daryl still agonized over not burning the entire hospital to the ground. 

Most of the time, the past was in the past, but approaching the concrete highrise sent him back to the hot summer day that had burned its way into his very being. 

Carol reached out to touch his arm, and he hated that his discomfort was so obvious. But then again, she was his oldest friend, so it was quite fitting that she would notice. With cold sweat already forming on his brow despite the cool temperatures, he felt betrayed by his body for showing weakness.

“Almost there.” Yumiko stated the obvious, and Daryl only gave a gruff hum in reply. 

The exterior had not changed from what he could tell, still giving an unassuming if not abandoned impression which was likely the intention. Abandoned FEMA tents, fabric frayed in the wind, and like the rest of the city far too quiet. 

It eased his mind minimally when Eugene greeted them at the side door, excitedly chattering away as he ushered his friends inside. But Daryl tuned out the banter, trying to focus on body language and mood. It was friendly and relaxed, and if anything that only added fuel to the unease in his belly, as with every step up the seemingly neverending flight of stairs his legs threatened to turn into the lead. This cursed staircase, the echoing footsteps, and he remembered the hope and adrenaline of the last time he’d climbed up to the fateful floor. 

It was not just his legs now, his whole body felt heavy and maybe it was the exhaustion of travel. Maybe it was his age finally showing him his limits. 

_ Phantom weight _ , he thought suddenly and choked on the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His arms and shoulders felt tense and cramped and he glanced around him, missing Rick’s presence and insight terribly much. He would just get it, understand why this walk was so difficult. He’d keep him from doing something stupid once Daryl would face the very cops who did anything but serve and protect. 

Then, the hallway: same beige paint, almost ashen now faded with time and in the low light. Happy rumble of joyful conversation from the cafeteria and his heart ached when he caught a glimpse of a woman with blonde curls. 

“You OK?” Carol almost whispered and he could tell he wouldn’t get away with a simple shrug. 

“Gotta be.” They both knew that. Yet when their leader - the young cop who had called for ceasefire - came to introduce herself as Amanda, Daryl could barely stand to look at her face. The memory knocked the breath out of his lungs, her voice calling  _ hold your fire _ all too late. No one seemed to wear a police uniform anymore, and for that at least he was grateful. 

Now, Carol took charge of negotiating, asking to be shown around and to see Ezekiel. Daryl stayed back, taking some slow steps across the hallway, pausing where he expected to see the bright stain of fresh blood on the linoleum. 

Mercifully he was given space. Amanda must remember him, and Eugene must’ve given her more warning still. It didn’t matter: the grotesquely happy sounds of the ward faded away as Daryl’s memories washed over him until he felt misplaced in time: the relief of seeing Beth and Carol alive, the anger at their obvious injuries, the immediate hostility toward the leader of the group. Disbelief when Noah was demanded in trade, annoyance when Beth stepped back toward Dawn and got involved. The split second of apprehension like a hot flash of panic just before everything changed. 

Then there it was: the sickening snap of her head when the bullet penetrated her skull, his ears ringing from the gunshot and the hot spray of her blood on his face just as her body crumbled to the floor - he didn’t remember shooting Dawn, just the burning anger and pain like someone cut deep into him: every breath felt like inhaling the bone fragments from her broken skull. 

Rage and despair echoed through him with intensity like the deep throb of a fresh wound: He wanted to destroy everything now just as much as he did back then, lash out to make them feel even a shred of what their actions had done to his family. 

He remembered how Tyreese had offered to carry Beth, but it had to be  _ him,  _ and he had hated how soft and  _ wrong _ she’d felt, how deceivingly warm, how her arms no longer wrapped around his neck with fingers intertwined, but dangled heavily and limp instead. The  _ pitter patter  _ of her blood dripping onto the ground, seeping hot into the fabric of his pants, drops falling on his boots, the leather soaking it in like rain. Life draining out of her in red. 

He knew her body well- the edges and curves, pointy elbows and soft hands. But also the strength in it, despite her scrawniness. Her legs had kept up with his on the run from the prison, her arms had held this hefty bow.  _ Potential _ , wasted. And years later his head and heart still ached with the what ifs, and he tasted blood in his mouth from biting his own cheek. 

She wouldn’t want this. Never would’ve wanted it, anyone dying on her account in revenge, simply because he could make it happen. But in this dreaded moment, his hand grasped his gun so tight his fingers started to ache. He could practically smell the gunpowder in the air in anticipation. Finally he could do what he’d dreamed about doing for so long. He  _ was _ a killer, they all were and yet it would mean and change  _ nothing _ to do it now. 

Like a coward he’d left Atlanta without her body, gun heavy in his pocket, while Maggie had wept so loud they’d all feared a herd would surely find them.   
Left her to rot in a trunk, no grave, no cross with her name, no chance to return to the earth. Uselessly following his group onward, far away from her, well-knowing that her body was turning into a feast for maggots. The only consolation was that she never came back as a walker. He never had to kill her. 

Daryl’s head snapped up as a couple of children ran by, carefree and happy and he knew that’s what he wanted for all the children of the alliance, safety, that’s why he came here to begin with, to gain allies so they could finally defeat the Whisperers for good. Mercy and compassion over his residual anger was what set him apart from the men he didn’t wish to become. 

Only after stepping into the hallway did he understand how hard it truly was to let go. Yes, there were the dreams, and sometimes her voice quietly echoing in his head, but he never felt like  _ this _ . Ready to snap, pulse pounding so hard he thought his ribs might bruise, so close to losing control that when he caught his reflection in the window he saw the face of his father. This anger wasn’t him, it never was, but it was  _ in _ him- he could be cruel and nasty, destructive in many ways, and so what he craved now in this moment beyond revenge were her arms encircling him, holding him so close and safe like she had done at the shack, taking this violence away with her graciousness. 

When he drew in a shaky breath, and thought how relentless it was that he missed her still, how she had shaped him and helped him become a better man, sent him on the path that now made him a leader. It was a mercy when his vision blurred, but he blinked away the tears quickly.   
More deep breaths, and he closed his eyes to imagine them back at the woods, tracking deer. Just them, the fresh smell of nature, her smile and curiosity radiating warmth into his cold heart. Just starting to regain faith- after the prison and all the loss, it was just them, but they were  _ trying _ . Now he needed to try, for her, for their family, because that’s what it meant to be alive. No more bloodshed than necessary, not even here. He had to look forward instead of back, and it was more than horrifying: if he let go of the anger, would he lose her, too? The happy memories, like flashes of comfort, would they fade along with the dark ones? Would that be the trade- and was it worth it? 

Carol’s voice at the end of the hallway, she was at ease, smiling, and it simply wasn’t the time to think about this much longer. Maybe there was hope here, not just pain, and for the sake of his family he would have to hold unto that and bury his selfish fury. Because this was about all of them, not him. They still had a war to win. He needed fresh air, and his legs carried him down the staircase, the echoing of his footsteps pounded into his skull like punches. When he practically fell out the door, sun blinding his eyes, he immediately leaned over and heaved. His shoulders shook as he straightened out, gasping in the fresh air. Acid in his mouth, burning his bitten cheek, and he blinked away the stray tears of his exertion. There was no embarrassment, not now. Not here.  
The empty ruins of the city before him, broken down and mostly abandoned by the living and the dead alike. 

_ Later, _ he promised himself, would he revisit these thoughts. Later, when his family was safe, when they could breathe freely again. Later, he might allow himself to face his memories and grief, and maybe eventually, finally, liberate himself of the guilt and give them both some rest and peace. 

_ Later. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 💕 Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> ___
> 
> I tried to capture Daryl's struggle, hopefully it wasn't entirely off the mark. Let me know what you think!


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